


Make Me

by sparxwrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Blood, Fighting Kink, M/M, Powerplay, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I am an angel," says Castiel and his voice is low, grit-harsh, all clipped syllables and gravel. "You should show me some respect."</p>
<p>"Really?" says Sam, drawing the word out into languid doubt. "Make me."</p>
<p>(In which neither Sam nor Cas can, or will, back down.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Sam/Castiel, negotiating the fact that neither will back down. Take that with an implied "in bed" if you want, or not.

"I am an angel," says Castiel and his voice is low, grit-harsh, all clipped syllables and gravel. "You should show me some respect." Sam can’t see them, but he can imagine the wings rising high behind him, flaring out wide heavy above the angel’s head until they fill the room. The thought of it sends fire down his spine, heat into his stomach, for some reason he can’t quite pinpoint.

In the face of the power radiating off of Castiel, the fire-blue of his eyes and the strength promised in the breadth of his shoulders, any reasonable person would back down.

Sam has never been delusional enough to call himself reasonable.

"Really?" he says, drawing the word out into languid doubt. He crosses his arms, draws himself up to his full height to tower over Castiel with the extra few inches he has, pours the memory of inhuman power and blood surging through his veins to pull a cloak of self-confidence and strength over himself. "Make me."

He knows from the smile on Castiel’s face, just before the angel twists one hand into the fabric at his shoulder and another into his hair and slams him against the wall, that he’s said exactly the right thing.

The mouth that finds his is hot and wet and sharp, teeth digging into Sam’s lip almost instantly. He gasps at the shock of it, and Castiel takes advantage of his open mouth, enthusiastic and far more experienced than Sam would have guessed. For a second, it’s all he can do to stand there under the onslaught, the sensation, trying to gather his thoughts.

And then Sam starts giving just as good as he’s getting, kissing-  _biting_ back, shoving a leg between Castiel’s and grinding mercilessly upwards until he’s not sure whether it’s even pleasurable any more of just  _pressure_.

Not that Castiel seems to care - he just presses forward further, kisses harder, makes Sam fight to lick his way into the other’s mouth. They can both taste blood between them, not sure whose mouth it’s come from but neither of them minding the bite of copper on their tongues.

When Castiel pulls back, they’re both panting like they’ve been fighting, not kissing; like they’ve been rolling on the floor and slamming punches at each other, biting and kicking and scratching.

(It says something about him, Sam thinks, that he doesn’t mind the thought of that, doesn’t mind the thought of being pressed head to toe with Castiel and full of violence, both of them grinning through bloody teeth.)

"I’m not backing down," he says, through the rasp in his breathing, baring his teeth in a smile.  
"Me neither," agrees Castiel, hair mussed and eyes wide. His tongue darts out, licks over his lips, picks up the bead of blood that had been growing there.

"Excellent," says Sam, and lunges in for another kiss.


End file.
